


Promises

by lucdarling



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Camping, FP Jones II's A+ Parenting, Feelings, Gen, Jughead Jones needs a break, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucdarling/pseuds/lucdarling
Summary: FP gets early release from jail and Jughead can’t catch a break. The Jones men talk around their feelings.





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nimmieamee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimmieamee/gifts).



> I tried for plot but it ended up more as feelings only. I'm sorry, nimmieamee and hope you enjoy this anyhow.  
> Thanks to K, C and A for beta-reading and being sounding boards. Camping as a plot device is entirely A's fault.  
> I handwaved FP getting early release, I'm pretty sure that's unrealistic. As is taking off for the woods when you get out.
> 
> This is a non-profit, transformative work with other people's characters.

"Where are you going to stay?" Archie leans over the table at Pop's, nearly knocking his chocolate malt off the table. It's rescued only by a timely save by Veronica who keeps her other hand wrapped around Archie's bicep. 

"With my foster family, Archie," Jughead says with a frown. The answer hasn't changed in the last three hours it’s been since Archie asked. "Not that I don't like sleeping on the floor of your bedroom, but the social worker seems to have her shit together and is doing a check up next week. They're not terrible people." He swallows back down the retort about Archie being lonely because Fred being in the hospital isn't the same thing as Jughead coming home to an empty trailer or the projection booth or sneaking in the school's closet.

"So not with FP when he gets released?" Archie asked next because he doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone sometimes and Jughead feel Betty's hand slip onto his denim-clad thigh under the table. It’s an endearing trait in his childhood best friend, Jughead reminds himself and ducks his head to sip at his cooling coffee.

"We'll see," and Jughead changes the subject with little tact to the latest on Fred's recovery. There isn't much news - he's still in the hospital, off the ventilator since two days ago and Archie is spending every waking moment at his bedside when he's not in class.

Jughead is usually there more days than not since FP banned him from visiting the jail, even though the commute from Southside High to the hospital located at the other end of Riverdale proper takes almost two hours. Jughead has a strongly worded letter of complaint to the transportation department in this town regarding the importance of keeping to a posted bus schedule. He'll send it someday.

Betty squeezes his leg to get his attention and Jughead tilts his head towards her. "You doing okay?" she whispers directly in his ear, soft enough that the two lovebirds across the Formica table can't hear her checking in.

Jughead shakes his head. Nothing is right in Riverdale - it hasn't been since Jason's murder - but lately, the causes are Mr. Andrews being shot, the entire town blaming the Serpents for the masked intruder at Pop's and Jughead having the normal teen problem of starting at a new school halfway through the fall semester. At least he fits in better at Southside. While not as many kids stare at him in the hallways, those that do are usually encroaching on Jughead’s personal space bubble for music recommendations or offer up a B-level horror film they think he might enjoy.

Not that he has much time to sit and watch his favorite genre, what with also being in charge of the Serpents. Thank goodness Jughead doesn’t have to do much beyond okay their ideas for shipping small class drugs out of town and make sure they’re keeping to their new rule number one of not pushing them on anyone getting an education.

So far it’s been easy but Jughead doesn’t expect it to last. He notes the bell at the entrance to Pop’s tinkle-chime over the jukebox playing Tom Petty but doesn’t look up until the presence is almost palpable at the end of their table.

“Can I help-” Jughead’s sneer dies in his throat when he gets the look at plaid and unshaven cheeks and a far too familiar face he hasn’t seen in over a month.

“Dad.” The name escapes his throat without permission while Archie chivvies Veronica out of the booth ahead of him. Betty squeezes Jughead’s hand, kisses his cheek and slides out after them.

The two Jones men stare at each other in silence while Tom Petty sings about losers getting lucky.

FP takes the coffee that Pop hands him with a nod and a grin that looks a little wild, draining half of it in one long swallow before setting the mug down in front of him.

“I missed real coffee. No surprise, our esteemed keepers of the peace have burnt their tastebuds off.” FP remarks and finishes the mug in the next fifteen seconds. Jughead slides his own over wordlessly.

“What are you doing here?” Jughead asks quietly. The lights in the diner aren’t kind to FP’s sunken cheeks and the blue circles under his eyes speaking to sleepless nights. Jughead hasn’t seen FP in person since he yelled at him with bars between them and the month feels like a year.

“Early release, kiddo. I thought we’d celebrate.”

“Are you drunk?” Jughead’s voice stays at its furious whisper but FP’s laugh rings out across the nearly empty diner. Jughead ignores the way Archie’s had swivels between the two of them from his perch at the counter and gives Betty a thumbs up from under the table to ease the worried expression on her face.

“No, but we do need some privacy.” FP stands from the table and waits for Jughead to do the same. “We have some things to talk about.”

Jughead follows his father to his truck, the sight of its worn leather seats and dents and rust sparking something warm in him. The truck’s been in the police impound, much like FP had been equally unreachable.

“Where are we going?” Jughead thinks to ask once they passed the _Welcome to Riverdale_ sign. “Don’t you have to stay in the town limits as a felon?” 

FP chuckles while the truck’s tires hum over the salted asphalt. “Camping. I have a mighty need for the great outdoors after being stuck in a metal box, go figure.”

Jughead can’t help but laugh at FP’s wry tone. “We haven’t done that since I was six. Sure you remember how to put up the tent? I don’t want it collapsing on us in the middle of the night again.” He knows something fishy is going on, FP has never been one for the woods in Jughead’s memory - not since his mom left anyhow - but he can’t deny it could be nice to have some time with his sober father, away from the staring eyes of Riverdale and the Southside. Riverdale, where everyone blames their last name and the leather jackets that keep them warm and the Southside, where everyone waits anxiously for them to make their move and puts them almost on a pedestal.

“It’s gonna be just fine,” FP promises and Jughead wants so badly to believe him. He sits in the passenger seat, silent and watching as the forest that borders the Southside swallows them up into the dark. He shoots a text off to his foster family that he’s going to be out for the night just before his cell tells him he has no service.

 

Jughead gets a fire going in the small pit while FP blows the dust off the tent fabric and gets it upright. They’re two miles or so in the woods, close enough to the rapids of the river that Jughead can hear it faintly through the trees but it would mean another ten minute hike through the barren forest to actually be on its bank.

“So, got a deck of cards?” Jughead cracks once he realizes there’s no cell service. “Or did you get enough of that in jail?”

FP smirks and Jughead smirks right back. “Good you come by your sarcasm honestly.”

“The only thing about this family that _is_ ,” he notes. “Now that I’m sort of running the Serpents - and seriously, you bought my notebooks for school with drug money?” Jughead doesn’t know whether to be grateful that his father had started him on the path to be a writer, or be horrified it was his fellow peers’ money that paid for them.

“It put food on the table,” FP shoves him not so gently off the log and into the dirt.

“And booze in your belly. We can’t forget that.”

“I’m gonna be better about that. I’m sober now, aren’t I?” FP retorts.

“Forced sobriety, woo.” Jughead fires back. He lets the topic drop and reaches into the bag FP had actually stocked with provisions like jerky from the convenience store down the block from the jail and water bottles. “Have some jerky, old man.”

They sit in silence again, chewing on dried meat and listening to the snap of the fire. It’s not as awkward as Jughead thought it would be.

“You got rid of dealing to schools,” FP turns towards Jughead. “Did you pick another way to make up the lost revenue stream then?”

“Not yet,” Jughead clenches his jaw. “I turned down the offer of guns. At least, I think that’s what Penny was alluding to.”

FP snorts. “She would. If any of us got caught gun running, she’d be able to bill us more.”

“She deals in favors,” Jughead corrects. “I found that out already.”

“Yup,” FP pops the consonant and tears off another piece of jerky. “She’ll go easy on you, you’re a kid still.”

“That fills me with hope and warmth,” Jughead grouses to his father’s chuckling.

“You want the reins back, now that you’re out?” Jughead offers. He’d like to be able to do that, let his father handle all the men and women who call themselves Serpents and figure out drug dealing schedules, locations and the myriad other things that come with being the leader of a gang.

“Not yet,” FP says and Jughead nods. They lapse into silence but this time, the tension between them grows with things left unsaid.

“Jughead, look.” FP starts and then breaks off, staring into the fire. Jughead stares in the same direction, nearly getting lost in the mesmerizing orange and yellow dancing, crackling. He can’t look at FP while he says his confessions to the tension between them. “I can’t give you much, not that I guess I did before.” He pauses again and swallows, rubs his open hands over his thighs. Jughead bites back a sigh because he can tell FP is trying. He uncharitably wonders if it will last long enough for FP to speak whatever’s weighing on his mind and if it’s too early to feign tiredness just to get away from the awkwardness.

“I love you,” FP says rather desperately, somewhat brokenly. Jughead’s eyes widen as he continues: “I won’t be better than what you see, I’m too old, Jughead.” He puts a heavy hand on Jughead’s shoulder. “But I love you. I’ll always love ya.” His eyes are bright in the firelight, dark and intensely serious. Jughead wants to crawl closer like he’s a child, squirm away because he’s nearly full grown and doesn’t know what to do with this surge of feelings. He can count the number of times FP has said those three words on one hand.

“Right,” Jughead says and coughs at the burn of sudden tears pricking in his eyes. He hadn’t even known how much he had wanted those words to pass his father’s lips. “I’m feeling tired, I’m gonna turn in now.” He dashes at his eyes only once he’s sure his back is to FP.

“Yeah,” FP agrees in a hollow tone. “You’ve been doing a great job with everything, get some sleep. Leaving at first light in the morning.”

Jughead waves a hand at him and crawls in the tent. He’s asleep before FP has finished throwing dirt over the embers of the fire and ashes.

 

Morning is bright and far too early, Jughead coming awake with a groan. FP’s still asleep with an arm over his face but startles when he’s poked in the ribs.

They break down the tent and split the last of the jerky as they walk back through the forest. In the dawn, every bird is chirping and the snow sparkles as they crunch over it.

They’re a half mile from the truck when Jughead spots it.

“Hang on a minute,” he slows to a stop and heads off the path towards the sight of something that doesn’t fit in with its surroundings.

FP cracks a joke about Jughead having a bladder the size of a pea and Jughead flips him the bird as he gets close enough to see what he spotted was blonde hair.

“Oh god,” he mutters and crouches down before he can stop himself. It’s a dead girl in front of him, blonde hair and blue lips. “How is this my life?”

He hears FP crashing through the winter brittled debris and clumps of snow but can’t bring himself to move away.

“What is- Oh.” Even FP’s voice drops off once he spots her. “C’mere, Juggie.” Jughead stands and takes a large step back, then another that brings him to his father’s side.

“Alright,” FP spins him around so they can look at each other. “We’re gonna go back to the truck and you’re gonna head on to your little Cooper girlfriend’s place just like you planned. I’m gonna call Sheriff Martin and everything will be fine.”

“No throwing Sandra in the river, then?” Jughead’s snark reasserts itself.

FP shakes his head. “I’m on early release for good behavior, I’m not gonna fuck that up. How do you know her name? Is she a kid from school?”

Jughead shakes his head. He’d never seen a photo of the girl before six weeks ago. “She would have been my foster sister. Sandra, Sabrina, Samantha - something with a S anyhow. How about I call it in and you take off for wherever you’d be going after you got out?”

“No, I’ll do it. You’ve had enough dealings with the police lately.”

“I’m in charge of the Serpents, or did you forget?” Jughead reminds him. “Wait, the Serpents! Can’t we get some of them to-”

“No.” FP shuts down that line of thought with a tone that doesn’t invite argument. “I’ll call the sheriff, you run on to Betty’s. Everything is going to be fine.” He pulls Jughead closer to him and steers him back towards the path to the truck. FP's already got his cell phone in hand to dial.

Jughead follows and tries to get the image of blonde hair on fallen snow out of his mind. This is the path his life apparently takes now, literally stumbling into murder mysteries, one right after another.


End file.
